Sticks & Stones
by reallyhatebananas
Summary: Some things hurt more than others. An account of the life of one Severus Snape and his journey into fairyland.


**A/N:** This is the first of many, _many_ fics I must soon write. I swear. I'm going to hate myself later for entering the 34 Challenges Contest. *sigh* Anyway, this was entered for the first round, using characters Snape and… Lily. I thought I'd try something other than slash for a change. Thoughts?

SOUNTRACK: The lullaby from the soundtrack of the movie "Pan's Labyrinth". It's beautiful. While you're at it watch the movie too, though I have to warn you… It's _terrifying_.

**Disclaimer:** J. K. Rowling owns the castle. I'm just busy usurping her throne.

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><p>"<em>Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me."<em>

—_'Folk Phrases of Four Counties' (1894) by G.F. Northall_

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><p><strong>i. <strong>

Severus Snape had always been one who prided himself on inscrutability.

He was a stoic man, and he wore this trait like a veteran would a badge of honor. This impassiveness had won him many wars, allowing him to pass through the hardships of life and death and hell and back nearly unscathed.

It was all he had.

**ii.**

Severus Snape did not have a happy life. Born from passion—love and hate—in a hovel leaching memories into the cold air around it, Severus was not taught the ways of the righteous.

He was taught loathing, animal to the core, as his father demeaned his mother and forced him to watch. He was taught fear and pain when neighbors turned the other cheek and the abuse crossed the deadly line to bloodied fists and blows. His weak, pathetic, _all-powerful _muggle father taught him that magic is not might and the world is no kind place.

He learned the magic of written word and the power of knowledge and the beauty of softly simmering fumes when holed away avoiding those who should have loved him.

Maybe, Severus thought, maybe if he knew enough then they _would _love him and the world would be right on its axis as never before.

**iii.**

He was eight when he first saw _her_.

Severus knew by then that no matter his brains, his father would always be a cruel, cold man and his mother unfeeling and frail. He knew that tears could only hurt and there was no such thing as love. He knew the ache of hunger pangs and the sear of a fractured bone.

His family had proven itself anything but.

He began looking elsewhere and then he found Lily.

**iv.**

Severus was almost nine and he fancied himself world-weary. His knowledge of the wizarding world had been perfected after years of hour-long bedtime stories coaxed from his mum. He could perform hexes and curses and spells with the best of them because it made him feel different, more _special_ than his father.

He hated that man, but Severus was no fool. He knew of hereditary traits and genetics and the qualities a parent could and, most likely, _would _pass on to a son. His love of potions had left him with an extended understanding of muggle sciences and the likelihood of becoming _just like_ his father left a cold, sour taste in his mouth.

He vowed that the family line would end with him. There would be no child damned to his fate.

**v.**

Severus Snape met Lily Evans and the world grew still.

He saw her and he knew that she was special, _different_ just like he was. Near her he felt warm and calm and the sensation of velvet and silk ran over his skin, an aura he later began to recognize as magic itself. It was there, though very faint, around his mum and stronger by his headmaster and even the children crowding torch lit halls.

There was more, though, around Lily. There was velvet and silk and the taste of dark chocolate and something growing inside of him, sprouting up all warm and bright in the dark of his soul.

Later he would realize it was love.

**vi.**

He watched and waited and then, one day the opportunity came.

He spoke.

She listened.

**vii.**

Severus refused to delude himself.

Self-created worlds were fine, he supposed, a nice escape when life was too harsh. But when there was _no peace_ and _no good_ it only hurt more to come back to earth. He kept himself grounded during the beatings and the yelling and the pain because at least it was _real_.

More than anything, Severus despised being lied to. He'd never been given the chance to be a child. Why, then, should information be held secret as if he _was_ one?

He spoke only the truth to himself and as a result knew several things from a young age.

He knew of, though he did not fully understand, his obsession with Lily Evans.

He accepted the fact that his knowledge of her one-day world was most likely the thing of his she most valued.

He thought that as long as he kept telling and she kept listening everything would be all right.

**viii.**

Seasons passed and the wind and the stars and the skies played a melody just for him. It spoke of beauty and joy and a life with her at his side, and slowly but surely Severus began to believe.

When he was ten Severus stumbled into the woods with tears in his eyes and a shattered arm cradled at his side. _She _was there, all pink-cheeked and dark-eyed with hair like red silk, and watching her face glaze with shock Severus thought that maybe, just maybe someone out there actually cared.

She fell to her knees beside him in the long, coarse grass and ghosted her hand over his, feather-light touch causing no pain at all. "Does it hurt?"

"No." Nothing hurt when she was there for him, Severus decided; nothing and no-one could harm him.

**ix.**

And she _was _there.

It went unspoken between them, no whispered promise or spoken fact, but from that day forth Lily understood. She didn't question the finger-shaped bruises spotting his skin or the raised welts on his back. She brought him salves and bandages and fitted clothes, more beautiful than any he'd owned before.

"Take it, Sev," she'd say, combing one hand through his hair. "I love to see you wear it."

Severus would do it for her love.

**x.**

The letters came with owls, great hooting things with beaks and knife-sharp claws. They were sitting together on _her_ porch when it happened, Petunia out for tea, and at first sight of the distant shadow Severus knew change had come.

Lily saw next, and with a gleeful shriek she leapt down the steps, racing to the hills. Severus trailed behind, watching her red hair float like banners in the wind.

"You can't outrun an owl, Lily," he called, but it was halfhearted because she loved to run and _he_ loved to watch.

She wheeled and was by him in moments, together again, both hands clasped in his. "We'll do it together, then," she whispered, flush with the joy and the rightness and the _magic_ that they were, and looking at her face Severus found himself agreeing without thought.

Her eyes had never been more bright.

**xi.**

They were dark when they met by the train. Severus noted her plaited red hair and with the black-green of her eyes and her hat she looked just like a Christmas tree, just like his very favorite time of year.

_Christmas would be spent at Hogwarts now_.

"Lily, are you all right?" He wanted to comfort her, wanted her eyes to go back to the bright they once were, but when she started crying out a tale of "jealous" and "Tuney" and "freak" Severus could do nothing more than awkwardly hold her hand, uncomfortable with the sight of tears. She smiled at him, eyes still a watered-down version of green, and Severus felt guilty that he couldn't do more.

Later, though, later Severus realized that he'd done enough. After the encounter with the boys on the train, first-years who'd made the hurt part inside him start aching again and his eyes sting with tears, the sound of Lily's voice and the grasp of her hand around his was more comforting than he could have imagined.

It was wonderful and he supposed she felt the same way.

**xii.**

They met after the feast; a handful of moments were enough to reassure him.

She was in Gryffindor and him Slytherin—unfortunate, but to be honest it was not a huge surprise. They were rivals, conflicting like they'd always been; Lily with her vibrant hair and shining laugh and Severus, dark-colored and glum.

They were like Christmas, he decided, Christmas with its red and green which were, after all, opposites on the color wheel. They balanced each other out.

**xiii.**

There were moments when Severus wondered why exactly she kept him around. Lily was popular, after all; she had several girl friends and a whole House of chatterbox Gryffindors to keep her company. Then there were _them_—Potter and his gang, prancing around like they owned the place, Potter with his oh-so obvious crush on Lily. Did she even want him anymore?

"Sev," she would murmur, late at night, "Sev, look. It's Orion's belt, and the scorpion—and a dipper, look at that!"

They'd be sitting together, huddled under his jacket for warmth, snuck up to the Astronomy tower, and he'd think—

—yes, it was true, she still wanted him.

**xiv.**

He was thirteen when his father died.

He wasn't sad—shouldn't have been; his dad was a heartless bastard and he was glad—glad he was dead, it was _good_; he was safe— why the bloody hell was he crying?

But Lily, with her shining eyes and hair and beautiful hands, she was _there_. She held him all night as he cried, never once complaining, robes sopping wet in the wind atop the Astronomy tower. When they were caught next morning she lied for him, rapidly spinning a tale of woe, and in detention next morning she was _still there_, still kind, still wonderful Lily.

It was then that she became his everything.

**xv.**

Sometimes he stayed up all night, listening to the crickets and the breeze and the song of hope played just for him. He'd stare off into the distance, imagining her window, bare because curtains reminded her of theaters and puppets had _always_ scared her, wondering why it was dark.

Then she was there, taller, more flushed, dressed in shorts with "_Look_, Sev, we went to the city and went shopping and I got my nails done and a new bathing suit—so we can go swimming together, just you and I—remember the little waterhole we found, isn't it marvelous?"

He examined the nails thrust in front of him (gold and green—that was Lily, always wanting school unity) and say yes, they'd go swimming, how was the trip? He'd not mention the fact that she hadn't told him she was leaving, that he'd been so _scared_, and he'd ignore the shame when she handed him a brand-new swimsuit of his own because he hated taking charity.

Then they'd be swimming, just him and her, and he wouldn't remember why he'd ever been upset.

**xvi.**

He realized in fourth year that Potter's infatuation _hadn't_ been one after all; it had just been a crush, and three years of rejection had wiped it away. Severus put one arm around Lily as she cried under the stars because he'd moved on, he was _over_ her.

"Sev—" she sniffed and Severus looked away; she was still so beautiful, hair red and eyes dark, glowing green, "it was awful—she just looked at me as if to say 'I win,' and they were kissing, _kissing_, Severus, and e-everybody saw!"

Severus hated, _hated_ the uncertainty. He'd thought she loathed Potter's attention—so why, then, why was she so heartbroken watching him date Alexia Bell? She sniffed again and before he knew it he was asking her, straight-out and blunt. "Why do you care?"

She froze for a moment and Severus thought he'd gone horribly wrong, this was it—then Lily's eyes opened wide and she said, "I-I suppose I just…" She trailed off then, no longer crying, and Severus had just begun to panic when he felt her arms wrap tightly around him.

"_Thank_ you, Severus, I _knew_ there was a reason I keep you around!" She looked up at him with those bright, bright eyes and colored cheeks and then—

—then they were kissing, her tears wet on his face, hair mixed red and black, hands entwined.

**xvii.**

He liked to do it at every opportunity.

Years ago he'd scoffed at couples, disgusted by their public displays, wondering how exactly they could enjoy those shows of affection.

Now he was _one_ of them, those lovelorn saps. He'd pick flowers and watch the light in the red of her hair; he'd smell chocolate on her robes and her wrists. They'd kiss and he'd tangle his hands in silk strands, feeling her hands with their green-gold nails stroke his face.

It wasn't what he'd dreamed but it was perfect in its own right.

**xviii.**

It was a warm summer's day and the Gryffindors were bored. He knew he'd be their target.

Lily took one glance when she saw Severus' face tighten and her eyes widened in understanding. "Come on, Sev," she breathed, tugging him to his feet, "let's go inside."

They walked from the shadows together, his arm pressed around hers, and Severus glanced back once to meet James Potter's eyes with a new glint of joy. He knew no harsh words would be exchanged that day and his time with Lily was unbroken.

The earth spun again and he thought he liked the change.

**xix.**

Their time at Hogwarts came to an end and before he knew it graduation was upon them. There were no tearful goodbyes that day, no promises to write, because Severus and Lily existed only in their two-person life.

"Are you afraid? I think I might be…" Lily said that night, clothes damp with the dew from her lawn. Severus looked up from where he was lying beside her and smiled, brushing red satin away from her cheeks.

"No."

When she was there he was untouchable.

**xx.**

One day he took her out deep into the woods, into a clearing under the glittering stars. He waited until she had finished her exclamations of delight and then knelt in front of her, a conjured flower in one hand.

"Lily Evans, will you marry me?"

She took the sunflower (her favorite—how _Severus_ to remember that) and watched in awe as it spun, leaving a trail of petals in the air as it warped. Severus caught the newly formed ring and held it, gold and emeralds glinting in the night.

"Yes," she whispered, "_yes_, Sev, I will," and sliding the wedding band onto her finger Severus had never felt happier.

Later he held her as she listened to the song of the wind and the stars and the skies.

**xxi.**

Sometimes Severus felt impatient. Sometimes, during the late-night hours of choosing flavors and guest lists and bands, he wondered _why_ he'd signed up for this, but watching _her_ in all her bright-haired glory, like silk and dark chocolate, he remembered.

"I'll want two children, a boy and a girl," she declared, skin silver in the moonlight and hair red—Gryffindor and Slytherin, Severus thought; she represented the union of them both.

Memories flashed before him, suddenly, of shouts and a childhood vow, and he said, "Lily," he was hesitant—would she be angry? "Lily, when I was younger I swore to never—to not have a child."

She looked at him and there wasn't even a moment of fear, because her eyes were not dark. "That's all right, Sev. I understand."

Yes, he thought, she was worth it all.

**xxii.**

It wasn't evening yet, the sky a dusky blue, and she was there.

She was there, resplendent in her silky dress and the foamy lace that pooled around her ankles. Severus watched her as she walked, wearing her earrings—green set in gold—that he'd bought for today, and he shut out the crowds and the stress and the words and the fear that things _wouldn't go right_.

Because just this once he knew that they would.

**xxiii.**

They spent the night together in every way. She wore a nightdress, the color of the sky at dusk, with her hair down and brushed like red silk. Severus knew he'd never seen a more beautiful sight and when he fell to his knees beside her, crying, asking her over and over _why_ she had chosen him, she shook her head.

For a moment Severus wondered whether it had all been a horrible prank, and his world ended.

Then she whispered in his ear and everything was right again.

"The question, Sev, is why you chose _me_."

**xxiv.**

Years passed and one day Severus was ready.

"Lily," he whispered, hands flat on her bare shoulders, "Let's do it. I think—we should have a child."

She turned to him with bright, bright eyes and Severus felt the love inside of him sprout up just a little bit more.

Nine months later their son was born.

**xxv.**

He was every bit as beautiful as his mother—he had her eyes, Severus noted, her eyes with all the love and wisdom that was hers. His hair was dark like his father's but the silk was all Lily's, sweet, wonderful Lily's.

He was everything and nothing that Severus had ever wanted.

"I want you to name him," Lily said, one hand on his in the light of the moon.

Severus shook his head; this was her dream. The honor should be hers.

She named him Harry for his grandfather and James for the boy who had brought them together.

**xxvi.**

Nearly a year later Dumbledore visited and told them—there was a prophecy about Harry, _their_ Harry, and the Dark Lord was near.

"We should do a Fidelius Charm," Lily cried, "keep us secret—he has to be safe, he _can't_ come here, Albus, he can't—"

Severus shook his head, speaking for the first time. "No. Charms can be broken. People can be tortured and they'll _talk_."

It took hours of convincing but two days later Lily, Severus, and Harry Snape had been killed in a potions accident. A family of three appeared in the mountains of Asia and nobody was any the wiser.

**xxvii.**

It didn't matter in the end.

Lord Voldemort didn't go after Harry at all—pureblood supremacist that he was, a boy who was technically three-quarters muggle blood was no threat, none at all. He attacked the Longbottoms instead and weeks later when Laura and Sebastian Brown heard of the end of their friends' family line, they clutched their son Harold and thanked the higher powers that they were alive.

The Dark Lord was too, though, because there had been no mother's selfless love to save the baby boy. His forces continued to grow.

**xxviii.**

Their old life was over but some things were the same.

Britain was nothing more than a battleground now, bloody and bruised, so the Browns decided that they should _stay_ where they were, up high in the mountains of Asia, and keep up the game.

Sometimes late at night he would take his wife and son outside to watch the stars through the film of protection that colored their new lives. They would listen to the song of the wind and the skies.

"L'amour peut durer un millier de soleils," he'd whisper, because she'd always called French the language of brightness and love.

He decided that it was warm here, up under the stars.

**xxix.**

They raised their son to know the world, to be one with magic and to understand the value of love. He grew up kind and strong and on his eleventh birthday Sebastian took him aside and told him of all he had missed.

He told him of Severus and Lily and Harry and the life they had once lived. He spoke of a magical Britain that was not fraught with death and the school called Hogwarts before it was burned to the ground. He spoke of old friends like Albus and the Malfoys and the Bells and how rich, how _majestic_ they'd been before the one called You-Know-You. He spoke of a boy named Tom Riddle and the choices he made.

He spoke of a time that was no more. He spoke of a noble cause and the war that had been fought and lost for it.

He spoke of a dark boy and a girl with hair of red silk and the love that had bloomed between them.

**xxx.**

The legacy was passed on and Severus went back to his homeland, ready to fight for the life he believed in.

Like his mentor, lord of the light, Severus wove and tangled the threads of fate around him as he rebuffed destiny time and time again. If he died it was only to be expected, for it would be, as the life he had lived—

—the spinner's end.

_**finis.**_


End file.
